I found out about Notre Dame burning from a text stream conversation I share with some friends. I had been off my phone for a few hours because I was at work and then running some errands, so I didn’t see the exclamation, “Holy shit! Notre Dame!” And because I’m me, my first thought was the University in Indiana. Something to do with basketball? Wasn’t the Final Four over, I thought. I opened up my news app and saw the photos of the majestic cathedral in Paris and I was instantly sick to my stomach. I couldn’t watch the video. I wasn’t in a place where I had permission to cry, but hell, I really wanted to.
You see, I’ve been to Notre Dame. It was a couple decades ago, but the entire trip had been one where I had quite a few experiences that I now understand were close interactions with deity, and particularly the deity that would come to be my patron. Given how pivotal that period in my life was to the person I am today, that I should feel some kind of way to watch one of the way stations on that journey go up in flames is understandable. Many of my friends who are medieval history enthusiasts also had feelings of devastation.
It’s also understandable that many pagans, being part of a group that has suffered epically at the hands of the Christian church, and many of whom have personally experienced unspeakable abuse from people who claim Christianity as their faith…
